Touched by Death
by GloriaNewt
Summary: Somebody at Cackles is left to grieve after the loss of a loved one, but how will they cope with having to say goodbye?  Another Paloma Faith songfic, this time based on "My Legs Are Weak".


**Authors Note:**** Decided to write another Paloma songfic- as some of you know, I'm thinking I may end up writing a songfic for every song that is on Paloma Faiths album and create an albumfic project (if time allows!). Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review my stories recently, and I hope you enjoy.**

**Reviews always make my day **

**I'm collecting people's tears they cried because they miss you  
>They fill the seas and all the lakes<br>With memories the wind blew**

The cold, unflinching light of the dawn was filtering slowly into the plush surroundings of the chamber, the floating specks of dust being caught in a sun-lit spotlight, highlighted in a rainbow arc of colours as they drifted slowly along without a care in the world. The castle lay silent, a dark shroud placed over the occupants as death took one of the sleeping members for its own, the elderly heart stilling to a slow halt, unable to bear the crushing weight of illness any longer, the severity of her condition unable to be reversed by magical means, the spark of life extinguishing from within her kindly soul.

Sat at the bedside, unmoving from the loyal post where she had sat for the past fortnight, the majestic sorceress felt for a pulse in the limp wrist, her long slender fingers frantically pressing against the clammy skin in a desperate attempt to find the steady thump of a life-beat in the body of the witch in front of her, instead finding nothing but a chilling silence. She was dead. The very centre of the universe of Cackle's Academy, the beating heart of activity, the sweet, gentle woman who had been a mother to countless young witches in her time, succumbing to the icy clutches of death, no longer walking on the mortal earth.

For the first time in her adult life, the tall woman allowed the burning tears of grief to escape unchecked from her eyes, blazing droplets of sorrow cascading in a steady stream of remorse down her gaunt, hollowed cheeks, sliding over the ashen skin that hadn't seen the warm embrace of sleep for two solid weeks.

**I'd run out of tears before the second could pass  
>Didn't have enough time with you to turn the hourglass<strong>

It was as if her heart had been wrenched from her chest when it was still beating, a dark void of emptiness opening up within her as the numbness of realisation began to creep through her tortured soul, gone was the only witch who she'd ever managed to reach out to in the bleakness of her agony, the woman who had gathered her to her chest and had attempted to heal the aching gashes in her young heart with the purest of loving care, treated her like her own daughter and fought so hard to put the broken pieces of her mind back together, the only one with the patience to sit and painstakingly reassemble the wrecked, muddled jigsaw of a human being who had stumbled, barely alive across the charitable threshold of the academy. Day by day, week by week, year by year watching on in pride as the majestic phoenix rose from the smouldering ashes of the tortured young witch whom she had poured her life into rescuing from her desperate plight.

There was so much that she wanted to have asked her, so many gaps missing in her knowledge of the motherly witch, that were now forever to be left as sketchy, monochrome blanks in the portrait of her life.****

**Pictures in my head suddenly appear  
>Why'd you have to go away?<br>It's all not very clear**

The eternal pillar of strength crumbling away to dust, her lifelong ally and staunchest supporter, now reduced to nothing but mere memories, the image of the kindly grey haired witch sitting comfortably in her chair by the roaring fire, the flickering light glinting gently off her angular, horn-rimmed spectacles suddenly swam into the grieving witch's mind, the elderly headmistress smiling over the top of her china teacup as she imparted another gem of wisdom to the eager protégé, the young girl who was hanging on her every word, taking every advantage of her teaching apprenticeship that she had been offered at the academy, the young woman who had grown up to become the formidable deputy head, renowned academic and potioneer, the youngest ever holder of the esteemed Witches Guild Certificate of Supreme Magical Excellence with the highest ever pass mark, an infallible 100%, the ruthlessly efficient authoritarian who was Constance Hardbroom.

**Goodbye sweet angel  
>Sail away on teary seas<br>Tattooed the times we had  
>On my memory<br>My legs are weak  
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She reached forward with a trembling hand and closed the glassy blue eyes of the corpse, placing a soft kiss upon the forehead of the woman who had given her everything; respect, care, trust and kindness, the gardener tending the fragile seeds of success in the nurturing orchard of life, allowing her to grow and blossom into the majestic woman that she became, the only one who had seen past the ugly scars of her past to the beauty that lay buried deep within.

"Farewell, Amelia…" she whispered hoarsely, the usually confident orator choking back the tears as the words rose to strangle her, constricting her mourning throat.

**When I close my eyes I see you  
>The dimples in your cheeks<strong>

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to erase the indelible image of the dead, lifeless corpse from her mind, instead wincing painfully as the cheerfully beaming face of the grey-haired witch swam relentlessly in front of her vision, the pain of seeing her kindly face acting like a knife to her bleeding, tender soul, a gentle smile that laid no blame, the acceptance of her fate dawning within the ever twinkling blue eyes.

**I forgot to thank you for things  
>Cause I didn't see you for weeks<strong>

She knew that she should have spotted the warning signs earlier, the once plump face shrinking to a gaunt, ashen, skeletal shadow of its former self, the previously steady limbs trembling beneath the ever diminishing weight of their owner as she shuffled resolutely onwards, determined not to let her fellow members of the school community see quite how frail she was becoming. Constance knew that she could have saved her, brewed a potion that could have removed the bitter infestation of the debilitating disease, lifted the pain and suffering from her benefactor, perhaps even saved her life if she had acted earlier. Guilt and shame were radiating from Constance as she began to assign the entire blame for Amelia's passing upon herself, she had just had to be stubborn, just had to spend her holidays incarcerated in her chambers reading feverishly and carrying out her magical experiments, too proud, too self-centred to attend to the needs of those around her, unable to come to the aid of her oldest friend, she could have used her powerful magic to reverse the affects, to cushion Amelia from the blow, but she had stood useless, powerless to help, only realising the severity of Amelia's condition when it was far too late to assist in any way.

**Woke up this morning and hoped for a dream  
>But reality sat next to me and forced me to believe<br>**

She wouldn't have minded if Amelia had shouted and raged at her for not assisting, not realising in time, but it was the calm acceptance that had torn deeply into her soul, the composed, serene approach that Amelia had taken to facing her own mortality that jarred most with her shredded nerves, self-blame and tortured shame radiating from every molecule of her being as she frantically tried to rationalise the twisting spiral of events that were enveloping her, casting her helplessly into the depths of despair.

She found herself wishing in vain, a childish hope as she clutched fruitlessly onto the fraying straws of her imagination, a plea for redemption, deliriously thinking that if only she could force her eyes to open to reveal the comforting surrounding of her own chambers, tucked up safely in her large, purple-covered bed, Morgana purring quietly at her ear and batting softly at her face with an enquiring paw, if only she could wake from the nightmare that had managed bled into her dark reality, the morbid dreams would dissolve into nothingness, that dark shroud of death would fall away from the lifeless body in front of her, and she would not have to face the grim reality of the fact that she had lost the centre of her world.

**Knocked down too soon  
>Like a skittle on the lanes<br>The man who took the wrong stop  
>From life's fast moving train<br>**

It shouldn't have ended like this. The witch cruelly took from the midst of those who loved her the most, her extended family. Succumbing to a curable sickness, something that Constance should have spotted, Amelia leaving the world before her time, her destiny rewritten with the contraction of the disease that had drain the last spark of magic from within her, leaching her of life until it was too late to reverse the consequences of the illness that had crept up stealthily behind her and engulfed the kindly witch in its bitter clutches.**  
><strong>

**Goodbye sweet angel  
>Sail away on teary seas<br>Tattooed the times we had  
>On my memory<br>My legs are weak**

Of course there would be a memorial service, thought Constance, a chance for the grieving witches of the magical world to flock to pay their last respects to one of the truly great witches of her generation, the sombre mass of mourners clad in their traditional black to trade their anticipated tributes to the witch. But none of them had known her like Constance had, each would have their assumed ideas of Amelia, standing and gushing relentlessly about the "tragic loss" whilst shooting suspicious glances at Constance that sank into her aching soul like bullets shot from a revolver, puncturing her flesh sharply and tearing gaping holes in her already crumbling state of mind, a haze of pain and loss building within her as the accusing eyes turned on her once more, mocking, accusing, demanding to know why even she, the supposedly invincible Constance Hardbroom was powerless to ease the suffering of the recently deceased Headmistress.****

**Funeral flowers  
>Won't make me believe<br>They can carry out the casket  
>And I still expect to see<br>You  
>You<strong>

Even as she sat in the front row of the assembled witches in the Great Hall, pupils and senior witches alike, gathered in shared bereavement, her gaunt face obscured by a dark veil of mourning, she refused to cry, her defences remaining defiant as she met the gaze of the other women with a steady, determined calmness, unable to grieve in public, she stored her emotions away within her churning head, the bitter poison of guilt still gnawing persistently at her mind as she sat rigidly through the never-ending service, biting furiously on her dark bottom lip, leaving faint bloody traces on the bottom of her pristine white teeth as they steadily perforated the taut, fragile skin of her lips. It was too soon, too raw for her to comprehend the loss, she still half expected the double doors to swing open, and the warm cheery tones of the Headmistress to echo through the hall, the familiar footstep to ring out on the wooden boards, the faint creak of the step onto the stage as Amelia took her familiar place upon the rostrum, but there was a deathly silence, a mocking quiet that taunted her incessantly in the knowledge of the fact that nothing could bring her beloved friend back.

**Come round tomorrow and tell me all your news  
>I don't ask for much from you<br>Sleep to my lullaby  
>Only give me one more chance<br>To say my last goodbye**

The hall had at last emptied of people, the thronging mass departing to the courtyard to mount the hundreds of waiting broomsticks and take off into the wintery skies in a black cloud of flapping cloaks and pointed hats, loosened hair streaming in the moderate breeze that was playing lightly around the exposed mound where the castle sat proudly, shrouded from public view by the nearby forest.

Constance sat alone, unmoving from her wooden chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her fingernails digging tightly into the alabaster flesh as she fought to contain the rising force of the anguish within her, tears beginning to leak unrestrainedly from the corners of the hazel eyes, her breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as she fought so hard to contain the grief that was consuming every particle of her being, desperate to cling onto the icy façade that she portrayed, the only method that she had evolved to cope with pain or loss, the fool proof safeguard that was letting her down so badly now in her hour of need.

Steeling herself, she rose shakily to her feet and moved forwards to the coffin where Amelia was lying peacefully in state before her burial, her arms folded across her emaciated chest, the hollowed face tinged with the greyish hue of death, the familiar, angular, horn-rimmed glasses left perched upon her head as a final memento as she lay there. So still. So quiet. A shadow of her former self, the broken vessel that had once contained a contagious spark for life, the sort of effortless charm, that incessant love of being alive, having magic dancing at her fingers, now reduced to mere flesh and bone, a soulless container, but lying so peacefully, she could still have been sleeping gently as she had on that fateful morning.

Constance reached forward tentatively, her shaking hand resting lightly on Amelia's as she prepared to say her final goodbye.

"Amelia," she began quietly, her voice trembling with emotion as she stared back at the lifeless corpse, "Amelia, wherever you are, whether you can hear me or not, p-please, accept my apologies, f-forgive me Amelia," she paused, tears choking her words back, "I-I failed you, I-I didn't help, I never r-returned all the love and k-kindness that you showed me, t-too self-absorbed as normal…" she let out a humourless laugh, a soft sigh of acceptance, "I know what you'd say.." she continued, mopping at her eyes with a purple silk handkerchief, allowing a faint, but fond and knowing smile to fracture briefly upon her lips, "You'd t-try to say that this was s-supposed to happen, t-that you were s-supposed to die, b-but, I c-could have saved you, b-but I **did** try, but I was far too late…" she caressed the wrinkled hand faintly, "Just forgive me Amelia, please forgive me for w-what I didn't do.."

She looked up at the elderly face, her heart stopping momentarily as she saw the faded attempt at a smile that had died on Amelia's lips along with the rest of her on that morning, the smile that had shown a woman at peace with not only herself but the world, not one grudge born, not one regret as she had slipped away in the presence of the witch who had been like a daughter to her. Her Constance.

**Goodbye sweet angel  
>Sail away on teary seas<br>Tattooed the times we had  
>On my memory<br>My legs are weak**

Constance leaned forward and placed her final kiss of farewell upon the lined forehead. "We shall meet again," she whispered, "somewhere, sometime in the future where we shall be at peace, a reunion, and that's the thought that I shall carry with me forever until my own passing, the thought of hope, of seeing you again that shall give me the strength to carry on, in your name…"

She straightened up, brushing her long ebony hair back over her narrow shoulders, "Watch over us all Amelia," she breathed, taking her last ever look at the witch lying in front of her, "take care my darling, and sleep well…"**  
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End file.
